


No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn

by lildouglas



Series: just a big ole' collection of one shots that have nothing to do w/ each other (beside the fact that they all take place after hoco) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), spider-man homecoming
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Sick Peter Parker, Sleepy Peter Parker, Tired Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, actual dad tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildouglas/pseuds/lildouglas
Summary: For someone with such a strong sense of responsibility (if you've ever talked to Peter, you know he spits out the phrase "With great power comes great responsibility" on the daily), Peter was a reckless piece of work.In which Peter juggles his duties as Spider-Man, as a student, as a part time employee, as an Avenger, and as a kid.





	No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn

The question didn’t occur to him until now, surprisingly so. One would think when his head slammed against the pavement, or when his eyes shut for a couple minutes without him noticing, or when all the people around him were reduced to mere blurs of color, he’d finally come to terms and ask himself: when’s the last time I slept?

From one of Loki’s blows, Peter found himself sprawled out on the shore of Manhattan. “Midgardian,” Loki drawls, landing before him. “It would be smart to stay.”

Peter pushed himself up out of the sand, gagging. “No, no,” he sputtered, sand dribbling out of his mouth. He picks up the bottom of his mask and lets it fall through. Horrified, he seethed, “How’d that even get in there?”

Loki scoffed and crossed his arms. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m not the one with a bloody nose,” Peter observed.

“I don’t have a bloody nose.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled. “Did I not punch you? Was that in my head?” He lowered himself into a fighting stance.

“Oh, please,” Loki snorted elegantly. “I won’t waste my time with you.”

Peter’s chest tightened. He took off in a sprint towards the god, but Loki blasted him into the water. The water pushed him down, and he found it hard to breach the surface. By the time he was swimming back, Loki was gone.

Peter brushed the sand off of his costume and shot a web to the nearby building. On the rooftop, he surveyed the city in chance to find Loki.

His feet were stumbling over each other. Minutes passed. Hours passed. There was no sign of Loki.

Defeated, he shrunk down with his feet dangling over the ledge. His stomach growled at him, and he grimaced. “Loki!” he shouted. “Come fight me, dude.” His voice gradually got quieter, and he had to shake his head frantically to wake himself up.

So, when was the last time he slept?

Monday he got home late from a very, very intense battle with Dr. Doom. That one had left Peter’s costume in shreds. By the time he got home, JARVIS was waking him up for school. Tuesday, he had a date, and the rest of his night was spent fixing his costume. He could’ve asked Tony, but he was busy, and Peter didn’t want to bother him. And on Wednesday there was that test and his never ending pile of homework. Thursday was a meeting with the Big League Heroes, where Peter would’ve felt very out of place if it wasn’t for the Avengers.

The only sleep he’s gotten in days is the few moments in class where his eyes snap shut.

Today was Friday. The Sun had already set, and his watch told him it was 3:00. It’s only a lie since he’d told Steve he was at a friend’s house and that his patrol was over at 9:00. Hah, that’s the funny part: Steve should’ve known that A) Peter has no friends, and B) New York City crimes always happen late in the night. Do criminals ever sleep?

There’s an alarm, and Peter is tore out of his thoughts. He falls forward, tumbling off of the edge of the building. His hands brush against the surface, his legs twirling in the air, and he brings himself to the window. A shaky exhale escapes his lips as he scales the building.

Close one, Parker, he thinks to himself.

He drops to the ground where the alarm is blasting. A police car was flipped over on its back. Loki stood feet away. “There you are, punk!” Peter called, waving his hand.

Loki grimaced, “Such a pest.” Loki raised his scepter.  
  
Peter held up his hands. He charged forward and grabbed ahold of Loki, kicking the scepter out of his hands. He threw an arm around his neck and brought him down into the ground. “You fool!”

Peter put a finger to his lips. “Shh, let’s take a short nap,” he mumbled, keeping him pinned. “I’m really tired, dude.”

“Get off of me!” Loki roared, blasting him. Peter twirled in the air but brought up his fist to webshoot to a nearby building. He landed splat against a solid.

“Whoa, there,” a voice said, and Peter sticks his feet to his chest. He continues to aim at the building.

He saluted with his off hand and flew back to the fight scene; the Falcon, his kickboard, followed him back.

“Mr. Stark, to your left!” Spider-Man called, charging in at bullet speed. Iron Man brought his repulsor up to block off a blast from Loki.

Iron Man nodded. “You’re outnumbered, Loki,” he said, stepping closer.

Loki grinned. He stood up. “That’s where--” A sudden strike of lightning left Loki reeling.

Thor’s hammer crashed into the ground directly in front of him. “Brother, please, I am sick of your tricks,” he growled, holding his hand out. The wrinkles in his face faded. “Let’s go home.”

Loki stepped back. “I have no home.” He vanished in a cloud of green.

Thor grimaced and took off. Hawkeye dropped down from the roof, bringing his comm up close.

Peter jumped forward. He was aiming his webbing at the top of a building when Captain America gripped his arm. “Webs, you good?” Tony asked, flipping up his faceplate.

“I have to go after them!” he insisted, cringing at his shrill voice. He didn’t mean for it to come out as a whine. “Mr. Stark, I gotta!” His eyelids flickered heavily. He swayed.

“Son, this isn’t our fight,” Steve Rogers reasoned, letting go. He lowered his hand.

Peter shook his head. “No, cause, I…” His face tensed under the mask. “I… have to?”

“Kid, come here.” The others stepped back into the quinjet that landed a few feet away from them. Natasha stood at the doorway. Facing him, Peter slipped off his mask. “I thought you weren’t going to do this.”

He blinked. “You’re not makin’ much sense, Mr. Stark.”

“Neither are you,” he shot back. He sighed. “You turned down the Avengers to focus on school and a social life.”

Peter nodded. “That sounds about right.”

Exasperated, Tony pinched his nose. “Then what are you doing?” He gestured to his body. “When’s the last time you got some sleep?”

Peter tapped his chin. “It’s funny cuz’ I just asked myself the same thing ‘bout an hour ago.”

Tony’s face went blank. “I’m not one to lecture about proper sleep schedules.” He slid his faceplate back on and walked back to the quinjet. He stopped besides Natasha and looked over his shoulder. “Figure it out, kid.”

______________________________

“Figuring it out” did not come easy to Peter. Turns out, he could go a really long time without sleep. His metabolism worked great that way.

Today was Wednesday. It’s been ten days. He really should've died by now. Somehow, he's getting by on those three minutes he has when he gets to class early, the short lunch break they allow him each day, and the thirty minutes of peaceful sleep he gets before a nightmare steals him.

Still, he drags himself out of bed at 6:00 to patrol as Spider-Man for an hour and a half before he has a wardrobe change for school. After school, it's straight back to the tower, but he doesn't go to his room.

It's in the lab he spends most of his afternoon, and it's not all by choice. He loves — don't get him wrong — working in the lab. He adores it. If he didn't, why would he work there? It's not that he dislikes the hours he spends in there; it's just that there's always sleep waiting for him.

Some days there isn't much work for him to do, but he still sits at his desk since it is his job. He usually finds something to do, whether it's making new web fluid, fixing his web shooters, costume repairs, or some silly experiment. But then, there's the good days. And Peter loves the good days.

He loves it when Mr. Stark comes to him with something. Because if it's important enough to get his attention, it has to be really something. Today, he brings him an alien artifact under some shards of glass.

Peter didn't waste any time digging into his tools. “Was this from—?”

“Yes,” he replied, grinning. “It's an energy source. That's pretty much all we know at this point.”

Peter is slipping on his gloves when he catches sight of the one sitting on Tony’s desk. It's massive. Tony returns to it. Peter returns to his work.

Some days there is no end to the witty comments, but today is not one of those days. Tony’s music is blasting, and both scientists are sucked into their work. Nothing else exists outside of their station. When they're like this, they don't stop without intervention.

Bruce walks into the lab, yawning. Tony doesn't look up from the artifact. His footsteps are quiet.

“Peter?” Bruce hissed under his breath. There's concern lacing his tone. Tony looks up. “Oh, God, Tony!”

Peter’s head is hunched over. Less than an inch away from his idle head is a shard of glass, almost brushing against his nose. He's snoring lightly.

Bruce holds up his head. His eyes are closed. “Peter, wake up,” he urged, shaking his shoulders. Slowly, the brown eyes flutter open.

His face is peaceful for a moment, then it breaks into a grimace. “I'm so sorry,” he apologized, kicking away his chair. “I didn't mean to fall asleep on the job! I’m so, so sorry.” His eyes are wide.

Tony holds up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay. Chill.”

Bruce was hovering over him. “Sleep and sharp tools do not mix!” He pushed the artifact away. He huffed. “You could've gotten seriously hurt.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion, as if questioning why they would've cared.

Tony dropped his tools. “Up and at ‘em, sunshine,” he said, clicking the elevator button. “Bedtime.”

Peter cocked his head. “Uh, no,” he said dumbly. “I don't have a bedtime.”

Bruce prodded Peter into the elevator. “Come on,” he ushered, and he was pushing into the dining room.

“I thought it was my bedtime,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Dinner, first,” Bruce decided. “Then, sleep. For a long, long time.”

“No!” he insisted, catching the attention of Natasha who was on the phone. Sam dropped his tray on the counter. “No. I have school. You know that.”

Tony rolled his eyes. He clapped his hands together slowly. “On your deathbed, and you're still worried about your perfect attendance.”

“Pffft, I'm not on my deathbed,” he giggled, waving his hand.

“No, you most certainly are,” chimed in FRIDAY. “It's a wonder you're not dead yet.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled sarcastically. “Yanno, I really needed that.”

Bruce slammed his hand down, histrionic. “Shut your mouth and eat, so you can go to bed.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Peter rolled his eyes, shut his mouth, and took a bite out of the pizza.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He quickly slipped it out under the table to look at the banner displaying a robbery happening down town. He stuffed the rest of the pizza in his mouth. “Thanks for dinner! Good night, everyone!”

He slipped out of the seat and sprinted upstairs to his room. Tony started to call after him, but he was already crawling up the wall.

Back in his room, Peter locked the door shut. He threw on his Spider-Man suit over his clothes and opened the window.

Even with his clothes underneath his suit, his skin was covered with goosebumps from the broken heater in his suit. Snow covered the rooftops and the top of his head. He pulled to a stop in front of the gas station. He slipped inside.

He flipped into a landing stance in the doorway. His shoulders, tense from the suspension, dropped upon sight of the robber. It was only the trapster.

The two workers were on their knees in front of the counter. There was a young girl with dark brown hair in double braids. Freckles covered her face. A teenage boy clung to her. They were both in uniform.

Peter was about to take a step in, but his spider sense warned him of a trap that lay in front of the doorway. He flipped over it, closing it with his webbing. “Sorry, I'm late!”

The Trapster turned, his eyes wide. In his hands he held a trash bag full of money. His fear of getting caught vanished almost instantly. A grin was placed on his face.

“You're shaking in your boots, Spider-Man,” he chuckled maniacally, pointing a finger at him. Peter shook his head. “Are you afraid?”

“I'm not afraid of anything,” Spider-Man corrected, lunging at the Trapster. “Except, maybe spiders, ironically.”

The Trapster isn't anything difficult or really anyone who should be threatening because he's not, not even in the slightest bit scary. Peter’s been facing him since the beginning, and it doesn't take more than a few minutes to be done with him.

His own trap explodes. That didn't take long.

Peter leaves him stuck in his own trap for the policemen to come collect. Satisfied with his work, Peter makes a beeline for the tower. He’s still shaking when he slips inside of his room.

There’s a knocking at his door instantly. “Peter, are you in there?” Steve called.

Peter starts stripping off his Spider-Man suit as fast as he could. He’s slipping his feet out when Steve starts knocking again. “Ah, just a second!”

“Sorry to wake you up when you finally got some sleep, but Fury called. We have an overnight mission, and we’re gonna be late.”

Peter stopped. He glared at the Spider-Man suit, the one he just struggled to escape out of. “Right…” he trailed off. “Parker luck.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, nothing! I’ll be right out,” Peter grumbled, grabbing his suit and opening the door.

Steve was waiting patiently. “Tony has everything you need on the Quinjet,” he informed him, even though Peter was well aware of emergency procedures. This wasn’t the first time they’ve had to up and leave for a mission.

The others were hustling about the ship by the time Peter and Steve boarded. Natasha slipped into the front of the ship. “Um, no, who let the thrillseeker drive?” Tony jabs a thumb towards the door to the cockpit.

Clint shrugged. “Try telling her she can’t” is the only explanation he gave. Tony sighed and turned to face the others. His grimace deepened when he saw Peter.

“Why are you here?”

Peter winced. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Stark,” he retorted. “I’m the Avengers plus one to this party, didn’t you know?”

“No,” Tony sighed. “Peter, you can’t keep doing this. You turned me down for a reason. What changed?”

Peter sunk in his seat. Everyone else got settled for take off. “May,” he mumbled weakly. “It was… I went to that stupid party.”

Silence fell over everyone in the ship. The only sound that could be heard was the engines and the heavy breathing of Peter.

This is the first Peter has spoken about May. Even her name was a rarity. Everyone is stunned.

“She was all alone… And I was just out…” He trailed off. “I turned you down so I could make time for my friends. I really thought I’d be okay.” He hugged his knees to his chest. “But I know now that it can't ever be okay. I can't fool around like that. It's cause of me that she's… gone.” He pushed his head into his hands. Hands rub his back.

“Peter, it’s okay,” Sam consoled. “It's not your fault.”

Peter’s head shot up out of his lap. “Shut up, Sam,” he growled.

Sam’s hands vanished from his back. Peter’s eyes are wide and so, so sad. Brown, dull eyes stare back at Sam. “Peter—”

“Shut up!” His voice was high pitched, not at all calm and collected. His face was red. “Shut up. Shut up!”

Peter cupped his hands over his ears. It was all so, so loud. “Please, shut up!” He yelled again, curling in further within himself. Drums, gunshots, fireworks — all so very loud in his ears. It hurts.

“Peter,” Sam whispered, but he's still screaming.

Natasha returns from the front. The ship runs on autopilot. In her hands are a rattled up pair of headphones with the Avengers printed all over it. She slides it on Peter’s head.

Peter’s shoulders slowly drop. His face is still contorted into a grimace, but his body has stopped its shaking. Red spills out of his mouth.

“FRIDAY,” Tony starts suddenly, quietly, “Just exactly how long has he gone without sleep?”

“Ten days, sir,” was the chipper response.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Impressive,” he commented. “That beats my record by a long shot.”

“It's not a competition!” Steve looks furious. His fist is clenched.

Natasha grabbed his shoulder. She held up a finger to her lips to signal Steve to shut his mouth. Peter’s tremor had returned.

The ship is silent. Nobody dares to speak out of fear of upsetting Peter, and nobody has anything that important to say. Even FRIDAY doesn't speak when she signals that the ship is about to land. She simply leaves a banner directly in front of Tony.

Peter is the only to slip off his headphones. His face is dark red. “I'm sorry,” he apologized. He hunches over. “God, I'm so, so sorry.”

“It's fine, Peter,” Sam said, smiling wryly at him. He holds a water bottle out to him. “Take a sip, okay? You need to stay hydrated.”

Peter knows better to protest after he raised his voice at the older man. With a slight eye roll, he accepts the bottle and presses it to his lips. After a few tiny sips, his vision starts to fade. He crashes into the ground.

____________________________

The fire cackled, and Peter, only a few feet away, stirred inside his sleeping bag. It wasn't the fire or the loud team of heroes, all loudly singing obnoxiously along to whatever was playing on Steve’s historic iPod — it was the freezing weather of Autumn.

Peter sat up. “Did you drug me?” He slurred.

Tony grinned. “Peter! You're awake,” he said, nudging Steve. “Peter’s awake. Bruce, do you see that? Bruce?”

Bruce was looking very pale. “Hello, Peter,” he greeted. “How was your sleep?” He turned to the others. “Spider metabolism… Next time I need to up the dosage.” If it wasn't for his super hearing, he wouldn't have heard the last comment.

Natasha elbowed Clint harshly. He yelped, almost dropping the iPod in his hands. “Ow, Nat! What was that for?”

“Your obnoxious singing woke him up,” she replied. “Don't quit your day job, Clint.”

Clint paused his music. “Hey, I'm a great singer,” he retorted. “And I'm retired.”

Natasha grinned. “How's that going for you?” She took a drink out of her bottle. “Enjoying retirement with us?”

Steve stood up and sauntered over. “I'm so much older than you, and I'm still kicking. You can't really retire from this,” he chuckled. “Actually, Natasha, aren't you about my age—” He stopped short. Natasha was glaring.

“Steve, you're a dead man,” Clint hissed. “Don't worry, Nat.”

Natasha showed no difference. She shrugged. If she had been offended, Steve would pay for it later. When he wasn’t expecting it, of course.

“You drugged me?” Peter coughed out, voice hoarse.

Tony made a weird face. “Kid, that was one hell of a delayed response.”

Peter didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead.

Sam pushed a mug of hot chocolate into Peter’s hands. Peter gripped on to it lazily with a tight grip. Some of the marshmallows started to spill out.

Bruce was frowning when he checked the time. “You only slept for a few hours, Peter,” he said, nudging him lightly.

“Long enough,” Peter mumbled in a daze. He sipped at his mug, but most of the warm drink dribbled off his chin.

Bruce took the empty mug from Peter. “It’s okay, Peter. You can sleep now. You have no work to do right now. Our mission isn’t until tomorrow.” He put the mug up. “Sleep.”

Peter wanted to object, but he was too tired. Even if he wasn’t, what would he say? He had no excuse. He lay back down on his sleeping bag, but his eyes wouldn’t shut.

The others got tucked into their comforters. Clint slept on a pile of supply boxes. Natasha was nearby, watching the fire. Her face was content.

Sam was only a few feet away from him. On Peter’s other side was Tony, who was snoring obnoxiously.

Everyone fell asleep eventually, but Peter couldn’t let himself drift away. Even when his eyelids fell over, his mind continued to race. Finally, after a few hours, Peter gave up on falling asleep.

Tony was sitting up on his bed. He was drawing equations on a tablet when he looked up to see Peter.

“Stop.” Peter looked up harshly, scattered from the harsh tone Tony used.

“Huh?” His heart was tight in his chest.

Tony clicked off the tablet and dropped it a few feet in front of him. He chucked a water bottle and some pills at Peter. “Stop being like me,” Tony said. He looked away. “Don’t pick up my bad habits.”

Peter had a thousand things to say to that. Why wouldn’t he want to be like Tony? He’s spent his entire life, which isn’t much but still, modelling himself after Iron Man.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled quietly, careful not to disturb the other campers. “Do you get nightmares too?”

Tony huffed. “Yeah.” He jabbed a thumb towards the others. “We all do. Part of the job.”

Peter hummed, hugging his knees to his chest. He scooped some of the pills Tony gave him and dropped them in his mouth. He chugged some water before shaking his head in revolt. “I can’t sleep,” he confessed. “I barely have time for it, and when I finally fall asleep I get woken up by these… dreams.”

“What about?” Tony’s voice is gruff. He’s really trying. Peter knows he’s way out of his territory.

Then, despite all the pain he’s in, Peter starts laughing hysterically. He tries to hush himself not to wake the others, who are all very sensitive to sound. “You’ve really lost it.”

“No, no, Mr. Stark.” Peter wipes at his eyes. “Worried father doesn’t suit you.” He’s grinning, ear to ear.

Peter throws his head back. He lays down. “G’night, Mr. Stark…” Peter is drooling. He passed out.

Tony watches Peter’s chest rise and fall. His mouth is gaping open. “Good night, kid,” Tony mumbled gruffly.

________________________

It's not long before Peter shoots up out of his sleeping bag in a frenzy. His clothes cling to him with a familiar wetness of sweat. The stench makes him want to wretch.

Peter climbs out of his mess of blankets to strip out of his pajamas. He looks timidly both ways for any perverted animals before stripping off of his clothes.

The cold water felt nice against his hot skin, but once he got out he was freezing. Though, he smelt remarkably better than when he had first woken up.

He waddled back to camp. His suit felt clean, and the memories of last night’s dream had washed off of him. Thank God.

Natasha was already up and running. She was setting stuff up on the quinjet when Peter snuck back in. Her back was facing him when she said, “I’m glad there's at least one other person on this team who has the decency to shower.”

Peter’s confused at first. During his stay at the tower so far, he hasn't talked to her all that much. He's not sure if she even likes him. He wants to make a good impression, even after all this time.  
“Really? Not even Captain Rogers?”

“They do, all right,” she said, turning to face him. She handed him a chocolate muffin from the box. She picked one for herself, the last one left. She tossed the rest to the side, all blueberry muffins. “But not out here. When we go on these long missions, they decide they're too barbaric and busy for baths.”

“Ew,” he said, scrunching up his nose.

Natasha took a bite out of her muffin. She took a seat across from Peter. “Or maybe it's a tactic… They smell so bad that the enemy just retreats.” Her face is serious. She's on to something.

Peter doesn't know if he's supposed to laugh or not. He does, though, because somehow Natasha looks so deadly serious about something so silly.

He's scared for a moment after he laughs, but eventually Natasha breaks out a smile. “Dimples,” she said simply, smiling.

Embarrassed, Peter covered his cheeks with his hands. “They're cute,” she praised. Her smile dropped, and she returned to her serious look.

“Do you hear that?”

Peter froze, shutting his mouth. His Spider sense was silent. He felt no threat. He shook his head, but Natasha was already heading towards the side. She tucked strands of hair behind her ear.

“I hear something,” she said again. Peter jumped out of his seat. He slipped on his mask.

Peter didn't wait for her signal. He started heading towards the direction Nat was pointing to. Peter was looking for a threat when he heard a gunshot.

Natasha was pointing a gun up to the sky. She fired three times. “Reveille! Reveille!”

The others shot up instantly. Clint, however, simply rolled over and grumbled.

Peter was frowning. “Sorry,” she apologized, but she didn't look sorry.

“Sorry’s right, Nat. You do this every time!” Tony complained, jumping up. He started to raid through the muffin box. “Where's the chocolate chip?”

“Wake up earlier next time,” Natasha replied. “And I wasn't apologizing to you, Stark.” She turned to Peter. “He's fun to mess with.” She pinched his cheek and walked off.

Clint made a fist bump to the air. “Natasha found a new victim to pick on!” he cheered. “I'm in the clear! Hell yeah!”

Natasha’s face was completely blank.

Most likely, Clint was not in the clear.

“Cut the chatter,” Steve ordered. “Eat your breakfast. Suit up. Then, we leave.”

  
Today was Peter’s favorite type of mission. He likes the ones he gets to spend the night out camping with the rest of the team. Even better, he likes missions where the objective is simple: get in, do what you need to do, and hightail it out of there.

The only job for them today was to grab some top secret artifact that was stolen from Nick Fury.

Hawkeye was already in position behind a giant boulder. He held an arrow back, waiting, aiming. “Nat, Peter, you stay here with Hawkeye,” Steve ordered.

Peter crawls up into position on the ceiling.

Natasha is pressed up against a rock. She’s loading her gun.

All the while this was his favorite type of mission, the waiting around part was not his favorite. He liked the simplicity of running in and running out, but his job wasn't to run. His job was to sit and to stay.

A man is supposed to walk out on the platform in two minutes. He will be carrying something, and Peter has no clue as to what it could be. Whatever it is, Fury wants it. Fury wants it bad.

With an entourage surrounding him, a man stepped out of his car. A blonde haired woman dropped a box into his hands. There was a sharp intake of breath, and Clint’s hands had just taken the shot.

There was a scream.

Not terror-filled, not that type of scream. A war cry. A scream that struck fear in the hearts of whoever heard it.

Natasha was not a force to be reckoned with.

Yelling, she charged up to the what Peter could only describe as a beast, and she tackled the monster. The creature was ten feet tall, and his claws were longer than his face.

“You know, we should have a girl’s night out,” Peter says to the beast. “Get Mani-Pedi’s?” He eyes his claws. “Someone’s in desperate need of some nail polish.”

The beast roared. “Well, it’s not me,” Natasha said, climbing up on the beast.

Clint is drawing an arrow, but a sudden charge of a wolf to his back caused him to jerk down. The arrow whistles in the air and sticks itself into the toe of the beast.

Reeling, the creature stumbles. With Natasha on his back, he falls off the ledge. Natasha pulls out a knife. She grips on to his hair. That's the last they see of her for the moment’s notice.

The wolves are upon them.

Natasha is gone. Peter thinks of giving her backup, but Clint is up close and personal with the wolves and he only has a bow and arrow.

Peter feels no guilt for the wolves. One had just reached Clint when he shot at it with his webs and slung him over the ledge. The wolf yelped and crashed against the rock. It stood on its legs and scampered away.

Peter was panting. “I have eyes on the target,” Natasha said into the headset. “He’s going off course. East, Clint. Do you see him?”

A moment passed. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “I see him.” Clint pulled back the arrow. Peter watched in anticipation, but he was pulled away from the sight by a roar.

Peter’s Spidey Sense screamed at him. Natasha was in the middle of a pack of wolves. They inched closer. “I got this,” Natasha called to Peter when she saw him about to come to her rescue. “Protect Clint.”

Sure enough, Natasha could handle herself. However, his Spidey Sense was not calm.

The Beast towered above him. Clint, oblivious, let his fingers let go of his arrow. It whistled in the air, and he drew another. “Tony, Sam, reinforcements are coming in on your 3:00.” Rapid firing, Clint kept loading arrows.

The Beast’s claw had just grazed Clint when Peter stuck his webs unto his fist. The creature roared and pulled against his grip. Peter dug his feet into the ground and pulled the creature back.

Peter felt so small.

The claws wrapped around his waist easily. Peter kicked against the hand clenched around him, but he couldn’t weasel his way out. The claws dug into his skin. Wet blood soaked his suit.

Peter’s defenses became less coordinated by the second. His kicks were barely hitting. He writhed, using the last of his energy. His eyes started to close.

Everything started to catch up to him at once. The pain, the nights without a wink of rest, and the nightmares, oh God, the nightmares held him captive in this monster’s hand.

Peter sloppily bit into the monster’s hand. Unfazed, the monster beat Peter against the wall.

“Tazor webs!” Clint called, firing an arrow into the monster’s face. It grabbed the arrow and pulled it out of its eyes.

Oh, right. Peter switched his web settings, and his suit fired into the fingers. Reeling, the hand unclenched, and Peter fell ten feet to the floor.

Gasping for breath, Peter pulled up the bottom of his mask. He pushed his hand against his bleeding side. He staggered to his feet.

He's so, so tired.

Drowsiness tugs at him.

Peter shifts into a fighting stance. He pushed off his foot and he charged at the creature. The second his left foot touched the ground for a second push, a wave of nausea hit him. The monster charged. His eyes closed.

The monster was just upon him when his body gave up.

“Peter’s down,” Natasha announced. Her stoic voice hid a tremor. If she was concerned, it wasn't noticeable. “He's out. I need medical.”

“Yeah, well, we don't have medical,” Clint retorted. “We have Bruce with a couple of band-aids.”

“What do you mean he's down?” actual worried Dad Tony Stark screeched into the comm.

There was the muffled sound of a gunshot and a faint roar. The monster fell to the ground. Natasha crouched down and scooped Peter up and threw him over her shoulders. “Clint, let’s go.”

_____________________________________________________

“You’re worried,” Natasha declared, pushing a box across the table. Seated across from Clint inside the quinjet, Natasha gently doodled in her notebook. Tony and Bruce were in the back with Peter. Sam fidgeted in his seat, anxiously casting his head back every two seconds. Steve had headphones covering his ears while he read in a book. He seemed distraught, reading the same page over and over again.

“Yeah,” he said, digging through the box. A chocolate muffin waited for him inside. He grinned, tore apart the wrapper and bit into the muffin. “And you’re not?”

“He’s not hurt,” she said, setting her pencil down to grab some colored pens. “He’s exhausted. But he’s not in pain.”

Clint chewed for a few minutes. After swallowing, he said, “Why did we let him go? It’s no secret he hasn’t been sleeping good.”

Tony left the room then, slamming the door behind him. He wiped at his face, trying to get rid of the stress. He sunk down into a chair.

“No wonder he was so wound up,” he grumbled. “How did he not die?” He was horrified. “How did he not die?”

Sam stood up out of his chair. He stood next to Tony’s chair. “Don’t,” he warns, knowing Tony is about to spiral. He does anyways.

Tony broke into the alcohol. He deserves it, or at least that’s what he tells himself. Peter gave him quite the scare.

Tony laughed a bubbly giggle. “Did you guys know the monster didn’t even cause him passing out? He was just so tired… His body actually gave up.”

“A lesson,” Natasha summarized. “He’ll know not to push himself as hard after this.”

“But why?” Tony groaned. “Why did he go to his breaking point?” He pulled at his hair. “Why is he such an idiot?”

“Well, gee, Mr. Stark, tell me how you really feel.”

“No.” Steve ripped off his headphones. “Get back in there.”

Peter didn’t look hurt. Wobbly in the doorway, Peter scratched the back of his head. A frantic, out of breath Bruce, panted behind him. “Sorry, guys.”

“Leave now,” Tony growled. “I don’t want to yell at you right now. Go.”

“Tony,” Natasha seethed calmly. “It’s fine. Peter, come sit.” Slowly, clumsily, Peter made his way down the row. He sunk into a seat beside her. “We’re gonna have a talk. All of us.” She gestured to Peter. “You go first.”

Peter’s lazy grin fell off his face. “I’m sorry,” he confessed. Tony didn’t look at him.

Bruce shut the door to the room where Peter had been sleeping. He made his way towards Tony, took the alcohol, and set it up in the pantry.

“It won’t happen again,” he promised. “I won’t fall asleep again.”

The group collectively sighed.

“That’s not the problem,” Sam explained. “Peter, you pushed yourself too hard. We’re a team. We’re supposed to take some of that for you.”

Peter’s confused. His eyebrows furrowed together. “As a team, we lack communication,” Natasha said. “So you need to tell us things. Like, when you’re hurt, or when you’re tired.”

She poked his nose. “Or when you got an important date with a certain lady,” she teased, Michelle in mind.

“What?” he screeched. “How do you know about her?”

“Peter Parker,” Steve growled, sounding the angriest as ever.

Peter yelped. “I-It’s not like that!” He was quick to explain. “MJ’s just a friend. A friend.”

Things carried on after the teasing slowly pulled to a stop. Bruce, Sam, Steve, Clint, and Natasha all gave their complaints and ideas how to prevent this from ever happening again.

Tony didn’t speak. He wouldn’t look at him.

After the last person had spoke, Peter looked expectantly to Tony. In his seat in the corner, Tony glared out the window. He was sulking.

“Out of all of us, Tony needs to hear your apology the most,” Natasha whispered. “You know how much of a big baby he is. Go. Talk to him.” She gave him a slight push, and he hesitantly got up the chair. He took a few steps, turned around nervously to get reassurance from the others, and then carried on.

He stopped a foot away from his chair. “U-Um, Mr. Stark,” he started nervously. “I’m sorry.” Tony still wouldn’t look at him. “What I did today was dumb.”

“It’s not just today,” he said, still looking out the window. “But it was dumb. You’ve been dumb for weeks. It was never not dumb.”

“Y-Yeah,” Peter stuttered, taken back by his response.

“Peter, you could’ve died.” Peter opens his mouth, but Tony beat him to it. “Don’t! I don’t know what to do, and I need you to live. I need you to be safe, but I don’t know the first damn thing about taking care of a human being! Especially not one as reckless as you… I promised May I’d protect you, but I can’t even protect myself. You are catching on to all of my bad habits; you’re turning into me.”

“I told her I’d take care of you,” he said, trying to calm down. “But how can I do that when you won’t even tell me what’s wrong?”

Tony was standing now. They were in each other’s faces.

Peter tapped on his shoulder. “Mr. Stark?” Tony hummed. “Can I have a hug?”

The anger was there, but it washed away. His compassion was stronger. He smiled. “Yea--” Peter lunged forward, tackling Tony with his inhuman strength.

Tony, on the floor, patted his back awkwardly. Yeah. They could make this work.

  
__________________________

  
Things did work out.

Peter and Tony were very similar, whether it be for the better or for the worse.

Surely enough, the problem never came up again. Peter still sometimes got bashful and stubborn about juggling his Spider-Man duties and his Parker duties. However, Peter never missed a day of sleep again.

Tony sat with him the first few nights. Later, Peter could get to sleep on his own.

He still woke up screaming.

Some nights Tony came to him. He’d hold him in his arms, and neither would say a word. Sometimes sleep wouldn’t come easy, so they’d watch old movies until they drifted off into sleep. Other nights Peter was paralyzed with fear, and FRIDAY was the only hope to contact Tony.

But on the good nights, Peter was the one who rose up from his bed and knocked on his door.

Curled up against Tony, Peter never felt safer.

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot took me so long to write, so if it's a little wonky it's bc I've been working on it for about a month. 
> 
> I really gotta get back to my multi chapter fics, but I just had to finish this. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed! If you did, leave a comment or a kudo below and maybe check out some of my other fics! I'd love to hear some feedback! (but please don't criticize my writing. If it's not A+ writing it's because this is something I did for fun. If you didn't like it, that's your business. Just please don't feel the need to voice that to me.)


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